Guggenheim of genitalia
by Miss Mel Lives
Summary: He closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled, and muttered something in Russian. Without another glance at me, he turned and pulled me out of the room. One Shot. M for Lemon. Set somewhere in Frostbite.


"That's it, isn't it?" I asked.

"What?"

"You're always fighting for control. You're the same as me."

"No," he said, still obviously worked up. "I've learned my control."

Something about this new realisation emboldened me.

"No," I informed him. "You haven't. You put on a good face, and most of the time you do stay in control. But sometimes you can't. And sometimes…" I leaned forward with a smirk, lowering my voice. "Sometimes you don't want to."

"Rose…"

I could see his laboured breathing and knew his heart was beating as quickly as mine. And he wasn't pulling away. I knew this was wrong - knew all the logical reasons for us staying apart. But right then, I didn't car. I didn't want to control myself. I didn't want to be good.

Before he realised what was happening, I kissed him. Our lips met, and when I felt him kissing back, I knew I was right.

He pressed himself closer, trapping me between him and the wall. He kept hold of my hand. But his other one snaked behind my head, sliding into my hair. The kiss was filled with so much intensity; it held anger, passion, release…

"Do _not_ do that again," he said stiffly.

"Don't kiss me back then," I retorted.

He stared at me for what seemed like forever. "I don't give zen lessons' to hear myself talk. I don't give them because you're another student. I'm doing this to teach you control."

"You're doing a great job," I said bitterly.

He closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled, and muttered something in Russian. Without another glance at me, he turned and pulled me out of the room.

He pushed me roughly back on to the bed making me bounce a little. Leaning over me he grabbed at my wrists encircling them with his own hands. His lips pressed down angrily crushing themselves over my own. I knew what he wanted and he wasn't beating around the bush to get it.

I whimpered not sure what to do.

I had wanted this, too. But I thought that he would be more gentle about it. Seeing it was my first time.

He pressed my hands together so that they were in one of his hands securing them above my head. The other made its way down to my tiny waist. Just sitting there. His kisses became lighter. Like butterfly wings softly touching my lips.

His hand snaked slowly and lightly under my dress. Doing small circles on my inner thigh. Further up his hand reached. Stroking me. I shivered at the touch.

"You don't have much hair there." He murmured against my shoulder in between kisses.

If I could have blushed I would have.

"Shhhh, its okey." he reassured me.

He released my hands. Gently he lifted my dress over my head. Exposing my body in all is inadequateness. He kissed my breast. One, then the other.

"They're like buds, waiting to bloom." He whispered.

He trailed a line of kisses down my front starting at my chin and working his way do my belly. I wanted to see his body. His sleek, smooth body. I grasped at his shirt while he nibbled at my collar bone tearing it slightly at my haste to get it off him. He chuckled, a warm sweet sound.

He lay against me, half on top, his skin slightly imperfect this close; he had open pores on his forehead, a trace of a scar coming down out of his hairline. His eyes were focused on my face, the pupils clicking open and closed, like the sphincter of a camera shutter.

The hand below paused in stroking me, and instead spread my lips apart. I heard the moist smacking and it aroused me even further. Sensing this, in one swift motion he had he jeans off and was finally as naked as I was. I felt around for him. His penis; thick and full, mostly hard, rooted in very dense, smooth hair. I heard a faint hiss in my ear, and a whisper of a chuckle. "Careful." And more kisses against my mouth. His mouth tasted sweet and salty as once, quiet pure, clean.

I had a firm hold on him now, bringing it near before it brushed against my belly. His hand met mine as it guided his penis towards my opening, as together we helped him find his purchase inside me.

It felt as if I was being slowly stabbed. I whimpered, again.

"Shhhh, its okey, you want this." He pressed.

_Dimitri, it hurts…._

He paused with his back arched, poised for a second; then all at once, he had gathered himself up and thrust in again. I felt a tearing sensation followed by a release of sorts, a warm gush.

"It was just your hymen, I had to be rough to break through it. But I promise, it wont hurt so much now."

I nodded. And he began slowly and rhythmically thrusting at me. It felt strange, a sensation I had never felt before. Pleasure.

The friction and the rubbing felt so… wow. I moaned a little. He caught my lips in his own. Softly pecking at them. I ran my fingers down his back pulling him closer to me. He shivered and quickened his pace. His face transformed with pleasure. Gone was the cynic's slight smile.

I was wracked with orgasms almost immediately. Only he didn't stop; rather he kept a hand down with a fingertip pressed tightly against my clitoris, trapping its retreat, making it face one defeat after another.

He understood the female orgasm probably better then any man, anywhere - that its not simply a function of the cunt of the cervix, nor a purely clitoral event; the entire system ought to be involved. After a few minutes our thighs were bathed in liquid. My liquid.

He was not content to leave me alone and kept up his stead pace pounding into me over and over. I, however was purely content in letting him do as he wish, enjoying the feeling of being filled completely and utterly.

After an immeasurable about of time I groaned, "Aren't you ever fucking done."

He grabbed my exposed breast bud tweaking it in pleasure pain. "When I want to."

I lay back against him wondering how I was ever going to walk again. His penis was still stiff as a poker curved up against his belly, covered in a pinkish sheen.

We had fucked till I bled.

When I showed him, he held me down and licked at my wounded cunt the way an animal licks at a sore spot.

At some point determined by him, he stopped and pronounced, "your turn."

I hesitated slightly as I bent over his penis. This was really the first time I had been this close to admire anything at all like this. He penis was like a work of art. It belonged in the Louvre, in the Guggenheim of genitalia; thick and longish, just on the verge of being too big, with a prow-shaped tip poking through the delicate veil of foreskin. His skin was so translucent that his erection was dark violet, like berry stains. I took in as much of his length as I could without gagging.

I sucked and licked, dragging my teeth along his length trying to get some reaction from him. A moan? A gasp? He seemed to drift into a contemplative reverie and I almost thought he was bored. But when I began to slow down, he seized my head roughly tangling his fingers through my hair and forced it back down.

At once he drew in a sharp breath and gave a clear, sharp cry. His issue flooded my mouth in a great copious stream that dribbled out of my lips and splashed on his lean white perfect thighs.

"Swallow," he commanded. I shut my eyes and swallowed what I caught - a big mouthful, the flavour of fruity punch with the texture of thick soup.

"Good girl," he whispered as I slumped beside him. It burned my stomach slightly.

"You cant ever leave me now, you know," he murmurs dangerously as his hands snake around my exposed waist. "Your mine."

* * *

**A/N Thank you Richelle Mead and Jemiah Jefferson. I own nothing. I got bored, and made them do naughty things. **


End file.
